


The Gift of the Magi

by Jen Hall (Greenlady)



Series: Mountains of the Moon [4]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenlady/pseuds/Jen%20Hall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch doesn't think much of Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of the Magi

'You see, Starsky, the thing is, they've ruined Christmas. All it means  
now, is shopping and eating, and more shopping and eating, and then  
still more shopping and eating. At one time it meant something, like  
Hanukkah still does. But now, it's just one big commercial. It's not  
Real, Starsky.'

'Perhaps Christmas doesn't just come from a store. Perhaps Christmas  
means just a little bit more.'

'Thanks, Dr. Seuss.'

'You're welcome. But Hutch, we don't have to let them ruin Christmas,  
whoever the Hell 'they' are. We can make our own Christmas.'

'Why would you even want to? You're Jewish.'

'So, I'm Jewish. I want to share something with you. We're working Christmas  
Day, so the guys with families can have the day off. I want to spend  
Christmas Eve doing some holiday type things with you. Have a nice meal.  
Play some good Christmas music on the stereo. Make love by candlelight.'

'Okay. Just one word of warning. No gifts. Got it?'

'Got it.'

Right, thought Starsky. Got it. Caught you. Now to reel you in. Gotta do  
some shopping, love. Find something worthy of you. Something that will  
show you my heart.

There was an antique store near Starsky's place, where one could find great bargains. And there it was. On a dusty table, surrounded by junk it  
shone, calling to Starsky. It said, as plain as day, 'I'm for Hutch.'

Starsky carried it to the cashier, and was pleasantly shocked at the  
price. Clearly not everyone could see the value of the things that  
Starsky loved, but he'd accepted that long ago. Hadn't almost every  
woman whom Hutch loved treated him like dirt in return? Well, Hutch had  
Starsky now. And Starsky had found this wonderful 'thing', and now he'd  
clean it up, polish it and treat it like the treasure it was. Soon it  
would glow under Starsky's care, just like Hutch. Then he'd introduce  
his treasures to each other.

The other gifts took a little longer to find. But Hutch deserved only the  
best, the most Real, not cheap substitutes.

Christmas Eve rolled around, as always. They had the day off, since they  
were working Christmas Day, and Starsky spent the morning cooking and  
wrapping presents, so that when Hutch arrived, he'd be free to entertain  
his Beloved.

When Hutch showed up at the door, the turkey was already cooked, Bing  
Crosby was singing White Christmas, and the promised candles were  
waiting to be lit. Hutch pronounced dinner a success, and they both  
enjoyed the good wine he had brought as his contribution to the meal.

Then Starsky brought out his gifts for Hutch.

'Okay, traitor,' Hutch demanded. 'What was so hard to understand about 'no gifts'?

'Oh. These aren't for you. These are for my other boy friend.'

'Starsk!'

'Well, you didn't think you were the only man in my life did you? To say  
nothing of my women.'

'Starsk!'

'No seriously, Hutch. I'm seeing him tomorrow night, after work.'

'Him who?'

'This tall, gorgeous blond guy. You know, I used to be straight, but one  
night with him...'

'Starsky?'

'Oh come on, Blintz. Lighten up. They're just presents. They won't bite,  
I assure you. And you were wrong you know. I did some research.'

'Wrong?'

'Yeah. Happens even to you sometimes, Blondie. Remember the Three Wise Men?'

'Yeah. So?'

'They brought presents to the Baby Jesus. So it's a tradition to give  
presents, not just commercial whatever.'

'Okay. I still didn't want anything.'

'That's tough.'

'I didn't bring you anything.'

'That's what you think. Here. Open this one first.' Starsky handed  
Hutch a parcel wrapped in gold paper. It was the treasure he'd found in  
the antique store. Now, cleaned and polished, the goblet shone like  
gold. Because it was gold. Very old gold, and clearly not machine made.  
Some sort of scrolly patterns swirled all over it. Maybe it was worth  
more than Starsky had paid for it.

'Well? You like?'

'Starsky? Where did you find this?'

'The antique store down the street. I think it's pretty old.'

'Looks like it. Looks like real gold. That's very fine chasing.'

'Chasing. Is that what it's called?'

'Yeah. Thanks, partner. I mean that. Sorry for being so grumpy earlier.'

'Hey. This is me, remember? I know all about your grumpy moods. But  
there's another present. Come on.'

The second present, Starsky had wrapped in red paper. Inside, was a  
large incense burner and all the paraphernalia necessary to burn incense  
on charcoal. There was also a box of incense.

'Frankincense,' said Starsky. 'Real  
Frankincense.' He pushed the third present over to Hutch.

'So I see,' said Hutch. 'Uh, Starsk?'

'Just open it.'

The third present was wrapped in silver paper. It was a jar of oil.

'Oil with myrrh in it.'

'Yeah. I kind of figured that by now. What is this, Starsk?'

'This is the Gifts of the Magi. Like in that story I read once. Who  
wrote it again?'

'O. Henry.'

'Like the candy bar?'

'Yeah. But they didn't give each other gold, frankincense, and myrrh.'

'No. They gave each other themselves. The gifts are symbols, Hutch. I  
wanted to give you something worthy of you, something good enough,  
something like you deserve. What's better than what the Three Wise Men  
chose?'

'You know, don't you, that some people would consider this blasphemous?'

'I knew you'd like it.'

Starsky got up out of his chair and knelt at Hutch's feet. Hutch let his  
legs fall open, and Starsky slid in between them, and rested his elbows  
on Hutch's knees. Starsky looked up into Hutch's eyes for a long,  
deliberate moment, then let his eyes fall, slowly, suggestively, almost  
obscenely, down to Hutch's lap.

'Nice,' he commented.

Hutch closed his eyes and let his head fall back, as Starsky pressed his  
lips against the front of his fly, gently mouthing the button on his  
jeans. Starsky laughed a little, complaining that it wasn't as easy to  
open someone's pants with your teeth as the porno films made it look. He  
managed, however.

The sweet, gentle warmth of Starsky's mouth enveloped him. He raised his  
legs and rested them on the arms of the chair as Starsky sucked his  
cock, and stroked his waist and sides. Hutch sighed. He felt completely  
relaxed, completely loved and content. This was perfect, this utter  
trust, this total giving. He let his head fall back further, and  
groaned, not hiding his need or his ecstasy. When his orgasm tore  
through him, he felt joy and relief and gratitude in equal measure.

'Thanks,' said Starsky.

'Wha... why are you?'

Why was Starsky thanking him, he wanted to say, but couldn't quite make  
his mouth work yet.

'Shh, love. You did have a gift for me, see? I love that feeling. Love feeling so  
close to you. Come on.'

Starsky stood up, and helped Hutch to get to his feet. He gathered up  
Hutch's presents and carried them into his bedroom. Hutch followed, and  
leaned in the doorway to watch Starsky.

Starsky set up the incense burner with the frankincense, and lit it. He  
poured wine into the golden goblet. Finally, he opened the jar of myrrh  
oil and set it on the bedside table.

Then he started to strip.

Hutch remembered the first time he'd seen Starsky deliberately take off  
his clothes to offer himself to Hutch. It was the second night  
they'd made love. The first night, Hutch had come home and found Starsky  
in his bed, already naked. Hutch had tumbled all exhausted into Starsky's  
arms, and Starsky had let him rub himself against him until they had  
both come. They'd fallen asleep, to wake a few hours later and do it all  
again, and then again.

The second night though, Starsky had insisted that they do it properly.  
'Properly' meant a lot of things in Starsky's book, but mostly it meant  
doing a slow, sexy strip tease, and commenting on all the action in the  
most suggestive way possible. It was, Hutch thought, Starsky's way of  
showing him that he was a real participant in this enterprise, and not  
just along for the ride.

Starsky finished his strip tease and picked up the goblet of wine. He  
went to Hutch and offered him the first drink. Hutch sipped the sweet  
wine, then gave the cup back to Starsky, who turned the cup so that he  
could drink from the same spot that Hutch had used. Starsky looked down  
at Hutch's open fly and smiled.

'Oh, babe. You need to get undressed, fast. I want that again.'

'You're insatiable.'

'Yeah. Is that bad?'

'No. That's good. But sometimes I'm not sure I can keep up.'

'No problem there that I can see. Come on. Strip for me.'

Hutch unbuttoned his shirt, and smiled when Starsky groaned. It was so  
sweet, he thought, this constant, deliberate attempt to make him feel  
wanted and desired. Hutch knew that it wasn't quite true. Oh, Starsky  
loved him, and liked the sex they had. All told, it was a good  
relationship. They complimented each other so well, and Hutch would be  
devastated when Starsky got bored with it and wanted out. The thing to  
do was to be prepared, and let it all die a natural death. In the  
meantime, it was so sweet that Starsky pretended to feel real desire.  
Hutch let him think the act worked. Sometimes it even felt real. Like  
tonight.

Starsky was smiling, pulling Hutch's jeans down. Hutch let them fall.  
Then he bent to remove his shoes, and step out of his jeans. When he  
looked up he surprised a strange look on Starsky's face, a look he  
couldn't quite identify.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing. Just love you so much.'

They sat on the bed, and drank more wine. Starsky kept looking at  
Hutch's body. He held out his arms. When Hutch moved into them, he cried  
out in a sort of pain that Hutch couldn't identify, like the look he had  
given Hutch earlier.

'What is wrong?' Hutch was getting worried, now.

'Hutch. When you get tired of me, promise me you won't break up with me  
completely. Promise we can still do this sometimes.'

'Get tired of you?'

'Yeah. I know you will someday. It's going to happen. I'm not what you  
really want, not forever. I mean, you'll meet a good woman someday.  
Someone beautiful and feminine and good for you, and I'll be in the way.  
But I can't bear to think that we'll never be like this again. Just let  
me have that little hope.'

'Starsk, this is what I want. Forever. I don't think I'll ever love  
anyone else. You're the one who's going to meet the right woman some  
day. I know that.'

'I feel strange, Hutch. Kinda dizzy. What was in that wine you brought?'

'Nothing. Just wine, Starsky.'

Hutch raised the goblet again and sniffed the wine, then tasted it. It  
seemed the same wine they had drunk earlier without any effect. Hutch  
had been feeling dizzy, but thought it was because of his orgasm.

Hutch said, 'What I tell you three times is true. I am yours. I am  
yours. I am yours.'

Hutch drank again and returned the cup to Starsky. He stared at Starsky,  
expectantly.

Starsky looked at Hutch, then at the wine. He took another sip.

'I love you, Hutch. I want you. I will always love you and want you.  
Try to believe in me.'

'I believe you love me.'

'Then believe the rest. Because there never will be anyone else. Not for  
any reason. I'm not the shiftless, untrustworthy liar you seem to think  
I am.

'I don't think you're any of those things, Starsk.'

'Shut up. You can't fool me any more. How many times do I have to show  
you? How many times?'

Starsky pushed him back roughly on the bed. He pulled Hutch's legs apart  
and reached for the jar of myrrh oil. Roughly, he spread some of the oil  
between Hutch's legs and worked some deep inside with his long fingers.  
Then he quickly oiled his own cock.

'Come on, Hutch. Let me in.'

'Starsk?'

'Let me in, Hutch.' Starsky was pushing inside much more roughly and  
wildly than he ever had before. Despite the fact that they were both  
strong men, they had never seemed able to forget their experiences of  
making love to women, most of whom had not appreciated this kind of  
rough handling. Now, Starsky was on the verge of losing control.

Starsky's large, thick cock was inside him. Starsky's voice was ringing  
in his ears like bells. The room was on fire. It was on fire. They had  
to get out, or they'd burn.

'Starsk,' he gasped. 'We have to get out. We'll die.'

Starsky paid no attention. He was thrusting now, as if he were trying to  
batter through walls, to save them from the fire.

'Let me in, Hutch.'

'Starsk! You are in, Starsk. The room is on fire. We'll burn.'

'Yes. Burn. Burn down the whole city. Let me in, Hutch. Not in your ass,  
I've been in there before. And I'm already in your heart. Let me in your  
soul. Believe in me. Believe I won't leave you. Trust me. Trust me.  
Trust me.'

Starsky's voice had risen to a wail. Hutch heard it distantly, like the  
fire sirens off on the other side of the city. The poor fools, he  
thought. They were smoking in bed and the room caught fire and now they  
were burning and the fire trucks would not make it in time.

The sirens were getting louder. Under the cover of their wailing, he  
could hear his own voice, begging and pleading and saying things he  
would never never say to save his own life. Never. He would never beg  
any one not to leave him. Not like this. What would Starsky think of him  
now?

'Let me in, Hutch. Don't keep me out any longer. I can't bear it.  
Hutch!'

The fire had reached their bed, and the flames were licking at their  
flesh. The sirens were right outside their building. He could hear the  
firemen crashing through the front door and stomping through the rooms  
toward their bedroom. Now the axes were chopping at the bedroom door. He  
could hear voices, drowning out his own voice, drowning out Starsky's  
voice. What were they saying?

Hutch dared to look up into the ceiling mirror, and as if in a distant  
vision he saw Starsky shudder and come. He himself was cushioned in a  
soft cloud of love so deep that he scarcely felt Starsky's last deep  
thrusts. He didn't hear his own deep groan, as he came for the second  
time that night.

Hutch let his legs fall to the bed. Starsky moaned and collapsed on top  
of him. They lay in perfect peace and harmony for a long time. Then  
Starsky stirred a little and looked up into Hutch's face.

'Darling?'

'Yes, Starsk?'

'Yes, Starsk?'

'You pick good wine.'

'Thanks. My presents were wonderful, Starsky. You have good taste.'

'Mmm. I loved my presents too. 'Night, Hutch.'

'Good night.'

Hutch looked over at the night table. On it rested the burnt-out incense  
burner, the goblet of wine and the jar of myrrh. They glittered in the  
candle light.

Strange, he thought. I'm still alive. Maybe he's forgotten all those  
things I said. Maybe he never heard, after all. As he drifted off to  
sleep, he felt Starsky's arms tighten around him protectively.

'I'm yours. Yours. Yours,' Starsky said.

The candles guttered and went out, and the room was in darkness. On the  
night table, the golden goblet still glowed with an inner light.

**** The End ***


End file.
